Untitled
by Ptrst
Summary: A spell gone wrong takes a mysterious stranger out of his time and into our own... Who is he? Where is he from? And, most importantly, how will Hermione deal with him? ON HIATUS
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note**: Okay. I've been telling myself for ages to not post this until I have more of it written, but I've been working on it for a while and I've just been _dying_ for some concrit. A few notes on what makes this fic different from Desperate Measures (and a few other notes):  
The chapters are _a lot_ longer. I'm trying to make this a real-life novel-length fic, Schnoogle-acceptable and all. Schnoogle limits are at least 3,000 words/chapter. So, yeah. That's about 5x as long as most of my Desperate Measures chapters.  
The humour. In this fic, I'm putting my own sarcastic-type humour in it. It amuses _me_, while I'm writing it, which is why I put it there, and I'm not changing it.  
This fic has _not_ been beta-read. It's posted on my LJ and on my Yahoo!group, completely sans-beta. So there might be errors. If there are, let me know and I'll change them.  
The name of this fic is _not_ Untitled. It doesn't have a title. I haven't been able to come up with a suitable one. If you can think of a title, let me know pretty pleases, because I feel horrible about posting something called Untitled.  
Alright, that's it for teh eb0l author's note of Doom.

Untitled

By: Jamie

_Prologue: One Day's Patience_

He smiled and collapsed into the chair that had been set up behind him. It was almost done, he knew. One more night and the ritual would finally be complete. He was exhausted from nights upon nights of drawing bloody shapes and characters onto the floor, performing complex calculations, and wrapping his tongue around words in a long-forgotten language, words that hadn't been spoken in centuries for fear of the consequences.

Yes, Dark magic was a powerful thing, one that could drain away your strength and your free will if you weren't careful. If he hadn't been on such excellent terms with the Potions Master, if he hadn't been allowed to go into the classroom after hours to create various replenishing potions as they were needed, he would surely be in a sorry state, if he was even still alive. But he was alive and well, and on the verge of having his innermost desire granted for him. Very, very soon.

A month's worth of near-sleepless nights were about to pay off, finally, if only he could have one more day's patience. And he knew he could. He was nothing if not patient.

He stood up and walked to the door, still smiling. He closed the door behind him and put his usual combination of his very own concealment and anti-detection charms on it before sneaking across the castle and down to his dorm where he knew a vial of his personally strengthened dreamless sleep potion waited for him.

_Chapter One: Mass Hallucinations_

Hermione Granger awoke with an odd feeling in the pit of her stomach, and it took her a minute to recall why. Today, she remembered, was her last day at home before she went with Harry to search for Lord Voldemort's Horcruxes. Tonight, she would say goodbye to her parents, hopefully not for the last time. They knew, in a very small way, what she was doing. She had decided that the time had come for honesty, because if something happened to her, she wanted them to know why.

Slowly, she got out of bed, cursing the sun as it streamed in through her window, cruelly blinding her. She had just grabbed a shirt and a pair of jeans, and was on the verge of taking off her pajamas, when she screamed.

There was someone standing in front of her door. A young, attractive, _male_ someone she had never seen before. And she had no idea how long he had been standing there for.

Realizing exactly how close she had just come to giving this stranger a free show, she blushed and wished she hadn't gotten out of bed in the first place. It took her a minute to find her voice.

"Excuse me," she said. She had no reason to be polite, but something about this person made it seem the only way to behave. "But what are you doing in here? Only, it's very early in the morning, and unless something incredibly strange happened last night that I don't remember, this is my bedroom, and I frankly have no idea who you are."

She saw him straighten his posture and the expression on his face changed slightly; she realized that he hadn't been fully awake. _Perfect_, she thought, _a strange man _sleeping_ in my room._ "Where am I?" he asked. _A confused strange man sleeping in my room. This just keeps getting better and better._

"You're in my bedroom, actually. And I would find it very convenient if you were to leave, at least until I can get some proper clothes on." Her pajamas, which she had bought because they were cool and quite comfortable, now seemed highly impractical and quite revealing. She held her jeans up to her chest, painfully aware of how low-cut her pajama top was.

The stranger – Hermione felt the situation was made even more awkward than it otherwise would have been by the fact that she still didn't even know his first name – obliged. She supposed that he, too, was confused, and didn't think it best to argue with someone he didn't know in a situation as strange as this.

Once she had changed into a more suitable attire – if anything could be considered suitable – she opened her door, hoping that she had just been hallucinating his presence. Unfortunately, she had not, and he was there, waiting patiently directly in front of her door, so she nearly screamed again. Such a shocking morning, and she hadn't even had a piece of toast! It was a good thing, she realized, that her parents were at work - they had wanted to stay, of course, but she told them that it would only make her not want to leave, and it was something she had to do; and, she added, she would be home soon enough.

So she did the only civilized thing she could think of. "Well," she said after catching her breath and a few seconds of thinking, "it seems as if we have some things to discuss, does it not?" He didn't reply. Hermione found it quite disconcerting that he had said only three words in the time that had passed. She wished that he would say something else – maybe it would relieve some of the awkwardness. It became obvious that he had no intention of responding, at least not yet, so she sighed. "Why don't you accompany me downstairs, and we can have a spot of breakfast and try to sort things out?"

"Breakfast, yes, I agree." A short answer, but at least he was speaking. Her response was to brush past him and start down the stairs, towards the kitchen, without making sure that he was following. If he didn't want to talk, she didn't either, at least not to him.

Once she reached the kitchen, she put some bread in the toaster and gestured for him to help himself while she used the phone. The plan for the day had been, originally, for all of them to do whatever they wished during the day and get together at night at Grimmauld Place, where Harry had been living since his last visit with the Dursleys, with the rest of the Order to say goodbye. But the appearance of this person, whose name Hermione _still_ did not know, had changed that; she had to get Harry over, at least, to help figure out this ordeal.

Harry, of course, was more than willing to oblige – Hermione suspected that he had been getting more than a little antsy at Headquarters. But still, Harry had a tendency to overreact to some things and not react enough to others. She didn't want to disturb the Weasleys, who were certainly quite busy preparing for the coming events, but she needed an extra point of view in case things got difficult. She pulled out her address book from the cupboard under the phone and looked through it for a minute before dialing the phone number of a very unlikely person.

Of course, Luna Lovegood was thrilled to have been invited over, and would leave immediately. Hermione returned to the kitchen to find a most acceptable-looking meal sitting on the center of the table, which was set for four. So he was an eavesdropper as well. Wonderful.

She noticed that, apart from the food and place settings, the kitchen looked exactly the same as it did when she had walked in. Nothing had been dirtied, though it very well should have been. An eavesdropping wizard. A strange, attractive, unknown, quiet, eavesdropping wizard who had mysteriously appeared in her bedroom at some point between eleven o'clock last night and seven o'clock this morning. At least she knew _something_ about him.

"As I'm sure you know, a couple of my friends are stopping by. Maybe they'll be able to help us figure out what's happened. But that's no reason why we can't try ourselves." Silence. Typical. "My name's Hermione."

"Tom," he said. And finally, she knew his name. It was a start.

"How did you happen to come by my house? Or when, at least?"

"I don't know." Ha! So he would answer questions! Well, maybe not answer, really, but respond, at least. "I woke up this morning, a few hours ago, and I was lying on your floor, which is highly improper, so I stood up and waited for you to wake up."

More words than she thought he knew. "I suppose it would be pointless to ask if that's where you fell asleep."

He nodded. "Yes, very pointless." Sarcasm. That was unexpected.

Perhaps the food was making him more open? Or maybe he was getting more comfortable – a troubling thought. She wasn't quite sure if she wanted a stranger getting comfortable in her house. Not much she could do about it, though, she supposed.

Hermione almost jumped when she heard a knock on her door. Really, this morning was just full of near-heart attacks. She smiled and excused herself from the table, still not knowing why she was being polite, and answered the door.

She hugged Harry when she saw it was him, happy to see a familiar face at last. After she was done, she motioned for him to come into the kitchen. "He's quite odd," she said as quietly as she could as they walked through her sitting room. "He barely ever speaks."

Curious, Harry followed her to the kitchen and looked around skeptically. "Where is he?"

Hermione scoffed. "He's sitting at the table, Harry. Are you okay?"

"Hermione? There's nobody in here. Are _you_ okay? Maybe you had a bad dream or something…"

"No, Harry, I'm very much awake. What-" She was interrupted by the sound of a knock on the door, once again. "Oh Merlin, I forgot about Luna. Just… sit here and tell me I'm not going crazy, alright?"

It was, as she suspected, Luna Lovegood, radish earrings and all. "Hello, Luna. I'm glad you could come over… here, follow me." She led her to the kitchen, where Tom and Harry were sitting in a silence that would have been very uncomfortable if Harry would admit that he could see him. "Luna, please tell me-"

"Is that him?" she asked, gesturing directly at Tom. Hermione could have kissed her, if it weren't for the fact that she distinctly preferred men.

"Yes," she said. "That's him."

"He's quite good-looking," she added in a clear voice. The stranger looked bewildered, and not a little embarrassed.

Hermione didn't know what to say to that, especially since she had decided upon that as soon as she had first seen him, not quite an hour ago.

So he wasn't a figment of her imagination – she wasn't quite sure whether that was a good thing or a bad thing, seeing as how it reassured her of both her sanity and the fact that, indeed, an attractive, mysterious young man had suddenly and randomly appeared in her bedroom in the wee hours of the morning. _Only me, _she thought as Luna began to walk closer to him, eyeing him curiously.

"Does he talk?" she asked, looking back at Hermione, who didn't quite know how to answer.

"Not much," she answered in a sarcastically grim voice, "but he certainly knows how to." It was true; he was intelligent, it seemed, and not a child in any detectable way.

"You do realize," he said suddenly as Luna opened her mouth to ask Hermione another question, "that I'm fully capable of responding on my own, and I'd rather not be spoken for by someone who's known me for not even an hour."

A rude one, was he? "And I'd just as well hear about you from someone unbiased, if you don't mind," replied Luna in her trademark dreamy tone, though Hermione thought she could detect a bit of bite behind it.

"Have you both gone loony?" asked Harry, still standing behind them.

"Something very strange is going on here," said Hermione as she slung herself into a nearby chair. "Stranger even than waking up with a person in my doorway." She sighed. "Harry, I hate to say this, but I don't think you're going to be much help here. I mean, you can't even see him."

"I guess you're right," he replied, "that or you really have lost it, and if there's mass hallucinations going on, I don't much fancy sticking around for too much longer.

"Just let me know if you won't be able to make it tonight, alright."

"Alright," she said, and Harry vanished with a small pop. She sighed – it was becoming a dreadful habit, really – and turned to Tom. "I have a party to attend tonight," she said, "and a trip to go on tomorrow, and I don't intend to miss either, so let's get this settled quickly, shall we?" He nodded his agreement, though Hermione had intended it as rhetorical. "Right then. For Luna's sake, please repeat what you told me earlier, how you got here and all that."

He gave her an annoyed look; she was finding it more and more difficult to find reason to keep him here instead of sending him off to figure it out on his own. "As I said earlier, I went to bed last night _in my own room_, and this morning I woke up on your bedroom floor. I stood up and waited for you to wake up, apparently dozing off a little in the process until _you_ awoke me." _No need to be so upset about it, really. You were going to be woken up eventually! _

"Is that all?" asked Luna.

Hermione nodded. "I suppose so. Not very much to go on, but…"

"Oh, quite the contrary! It seems to me like you have an infestation of glinkles. Sneaky little creatures, but easier than most to get rid- Oh, why are you looking at me like that?"

"Because," said Tom in a rather nasty voice, "_glinkles_ do not exist." Hermione agreed with him – a strange thing, truly – but still found it in herself to shoot him a glare; since when did he have the right to speak to her guests like that?

Luna scoffed at his ignorance. "Obviously, _some_ of us are more educated than others."

Hermione didn't want this argument to continue. Luna scoffing was not a common occurrence, and she didn't want to find out how angry she could get. "Right, Luna. Let's write that one down -" she summoned a piece of ordinary paper and a cheap, ordinary, blue-ink pen –"and we'll go back to it later." Luna looked pleased, Hermione was happy to see, and Tom looked quite put off, which made her even happier.

"I wonder," said Luna, "if you perhaps activated an enchantment of some kind that brought you here? Accidentally, of course."

Tom paled at this, though Hermione couldn't tell why. "Of course not. I am more than competent at all branches of magic, and how _dare_ you imply otherwise!"

_Touchy, touchy – it looks like Mr. Personality here has a sore spot. _"Well, it _is_ possible for even the most competent wizard to make a mistake, you know."

He looked at her haughtily. "Not for me."

She forced a patient smile onto her unwilling face, carefully resisting the urge to shove his words back down his throat. "Well then, you certainly mustn't practice magic all that often," she said pleasantly. "Because everyone – and I most certainly mean _everyone_ – makes mistakes occasionally." Alright, it was a cheap shot. But she didn't think she could stand his condescension for very much longer.

He glared at her. _If looks could kill…_ "I really don't believe that this subject has any bearing on the issue at hand."

The smile on her face became genuine as she sensed his discomfort. "Quite the opposite, actually, I think that it's one of the very few possibilities – unless, of course, you've managed to figure it all out on your own?"

His death glares were becoming as much a habit as her sighing – she briefly wondered if it was usual for him. "If I _knew_ how I got here – or even where 'here' was – I would most certainly be on my way."

It was only then that Hermione realized exactly how confused this young man must be. _Serves him right._ "You're in London, actually, if that clears anything up."

Apparently, it served to confuse him further. To the point of silence, actually. Again.

"Hermione, shouldn't you be packing?" asked Luna suddenly.

Hermione glanced at the clock hanging from the wall. "Actually, yes. Well, I can't say it's been a pleasure meeting you, but it's certainly been interesting, and I wish you luck. However, as I said earlier, I have a trip to go on tomorrow for the rest of summer, and- what is it now?"

"Summer? It's November, you silly girl!"

"I assure you that it is most certainly _not_ November, else I would have gone on my trip, returned, and would now be in school." So he was crazy as well.

Luna, on the other hand, seemed to have a different idea. "Oh, it's obvious what's happened," she said.

Tom groaned, got up, and walked to the door. "Yes, indeed, it's obvious that I'm apparently still asleep. Now I'm going to leave and wake up." Hermione rolled her eyes. Out of his bloody mind. He turned the door handle, opened the door, stepped forward and –

"Damn it!" he shouted, rubbing his foot. Hermione stifled a laugh.

"What is it this time?"

"I can't leave."

"Now you're just bothering me. Get out of my house, at least until you've regained some of your sanity."

"No, I can't." She shot him a glare angry enough to match the ones he'd given her earlier. "Honestly. It won't let me leave."

Hermione groaned. So, there was a strange, attractive, unknown, quiet, eavesdropping, possibly insane wizard who had somehow managed to appear in her house without her knowledge and/or approval and who now, apparently, was unable to leave. It was starting to seem like today, life itself was out to get her. "Well then," she said, after taking a moment to regain her composure, "I suggest you come upstairs." He looked at her skeptically. "As I've already told you twice, I simply _cannot_ miss this trip. Now come on and help me pack."

**Author's Note** (again): What did you think? Any types of feedback are appreciated, honestly...

**_Jamie_**


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: I'm finished with Desperate Measures (though it's not all posted on as of yet), and so I found it a lot easier to write this. Basically, the last… 1400 or so words of this are the product of 3 hours writing (nearly without interruption), and I like it a lot. Nope, it hasn't been beta-read, so pardon whatever errors you may find.

w1cked angel – Heh, good guesses… we'll see if your summary's right or not, though.

Monkeystarz – Bless you. lol And thanks for the review, I'm glad you liked it!

404 – I try. 

Nia – That was probably one of my favourite lines from last chapter.  
cm-88 – Glad you liked last chapter, and I hope you like this one, too!  
Encantada – Would you, by any chance, be the person on Light & Darkness with the same name? hehehe. And all explanations in due time, my child. ;)

Ilana Kohen – You're right, there's not enough TR/Hr stories, which is why I'm writing another!  
sakuya-kaleido – Umm… Yep, that's the (eventual) pairing…  
Anuksunamun-Kalia (AKA Sam) – I've actually worked through all my explanations… as to the question you posed… there's a hint later in this chapter, see if you can find it!  
Taintless – This story… well, it's longer and less fluffy, kinda, but don't take it too seriously – it doesn't take _itself_ very seriously, as a matter of fact.  
FrEckLeD tRiCkStA – See, look, continued!  
Blondie05 – Glad you like it! Here's your chapter!

There's a really big hint in this chapter as to… well, something. I'm sure some of you will spot it!

Untitled

By: Jamie

_Chapter Two: _De Sol Rigueur

Packing was... interesting, to say the least. Tom had a knack for finding the most embarrassing things Hermione owned, and bringing them to her attention.

Luna had left shortly after Hermione instructed him to follow her; Hermione was glad to see that Luna, at least, found her predicament amusing, as Hermione herself was unable to see the humor in the situation. So once again, it was Hermione and what seemed to be her new roommate, unless she could find a way to remove him from her house. Or, rather, her parent's house. Oh dear.

"Oh dear."

"What?"

"This is my parent's house that you're invading, not mine. I'm leaving tomorrow for a very long time, and you'll still be in my parent's house. Alone." She sat down on her bed, ignoring the clothes she was sitting on. "What have you done?"

"I haven't done anything," he said angrily. "We've been over that, remember? And anyway, I don't much fancy staying with your parents, either."

"Oh, but it's worse than just that, don't you understand? They're _muggles_! I mean, if they were wizards then they might understand at least a little – certainly not entirely, nobody understands entirely – but they're still not entirely comfortable with magic, and... I can't ask them to do that!"

"Do you have a choice?"

She groaned. "This trip could possibly be the most important thing I've ever done in my life, and I'm not exaggerating. It's literally a life or death situation. But my parents...

"I can't go."

"You just said it's a life or death situation."

"Well, yes, but they're my _parents_. You don't seem to understand –"

"What, are you afraid I'm going to go on a mass killing spree or something?" he asked sarcastically, but Hermione detected a bit of irony in his voice.

"As a matter of fact, I haven't the slightest _what_ you're capable of, and I don't much trust strangers with the lives of the people who raised me."

Ouch. Another death glare. Really, if he kept doing that, his face was going to get stuck that way! "You know, if you keep doing that, your face is going to get stuck that way."

"Doing what?"

"That whole _death glare_ thing you do. I assure you, looks can_not_ kill, else I would be dead several times over by now." Another one. "And yet, I live."

Really, he had no sense of humour whatsoever.

"I'm done," she announced.

"I'm glad; I was getting quite tired of your voice."

She rolled her eyes. "I can't concentrate on packing with your failed attempts at snark shooting past me like poorly aimed curses all the time.

"I'm going to Harry's place. You're going to stay here, obviously. And I'm putting up wards, so no magic." He was visibly enraged. Good.

She left.

Hermione walked into Grimmauld Place without knocking; Harry had, after all, instructed her to do so and it kept Mrs. Black significantly quieter, besides. She climbed up onto the first story and entered a large sitting room, where she found a somewhat clean chair and promptly collapsed.

"What am I going to do?"

"I'd start with sitting up straight; it's horrible for your posture to slouch like that."

She nearly jumped. "Professor Lupin –"

"Hush, Hermione, I haven't been your teacher for years now! Now what seems to be the problem?"

"Well, it's quite strange, really. I woke up this morning, and there was this – this person, standing in my doorway, who I've never seen before in my life!"

"That certainly is strange."

"That's not even the half of it! I called Harry and Luna Lovegood over to my house, to make sure I wasn't hallucinating, you know, and Luna saw him perfectly fine, she was talking to him and everything, but Harry said that he couldn't see him at all! And then I told him – he said his name was Tom, I believe – to get out of my house – he's a right pain in the you-know-what, sir, arrogant like you wouldn't believe – and he couldn't!"

Remus looked at her suspiciously. "What do you mean, he couldn't?"

"Just that, Prof-sorry. I mean, he couldn't get through the doorway, it's actually quite amusing now that I think about it, but we're leaving tomorrow, you know, and I really don't want him living in my parents' house, especially since I'm not going to be there!"

The door swung open with a loud _creak_, and Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody stepped in. "Remus, there's a huge – Hermione, what're you doing here?"

"She was explaining something very odd to me, actually. Continue, please."

"What? Oh yes, that. That portrait of Mrs. Black – bloody irritating thing, I say – is whinging on about some 'unpure mudblooded filth' – no offense, of course – wandering down the street. Of course, any wizard with half a brain would have gotten the message to leave by the sparks that damn painting's shooting off… I've never seen the likes of it!"

Hermione audibly groaned. It couldn't be. "It can't be…" she said as she sped down the stairs and past the screaming portrait. She swung open the door completely and nearly screamed before running back inside the house.

"What is he doing here!"

Remus and Alastor weren't too terribly far behind her, though they hadn't sprinted downstairs with quite as much motive as she. "Who?"

"Oh, it's _him_ again, sir, that arrogant... _person_ who showed up at my house this morning, only he said he couldn't leave, sir, and I saw him try, and he _couldn't_, and now he's here, and..."

Lupin grabbed ahold of her, as she was near tears. "Calm down, deary, it's okay. You say it's him outside, the one who was at your house?"

She nodded pathetically, as she didn't trust herself to speak without breaking down and crying. It was all so damn _stressful_.

"Well, I think we need to have a word with him, what d'you say?"

She looked positively horrified at the thought, and shook her head fervently. It was quite obvious that, if it were up to her, she would simply leave him outside forever, become a hermit, and never see him again.

Remus gestured to Alastor, who was standing with a mystified look on his face, watching the pair, to go outside and let the young man in. So he walked out the door as quietly as he could manage, reaching into his pocket and calling for Dobby, who – as he had proved his allegiance many times – had been made Secret-Keeper for Grimmauld Place. A few fought against it, but Hermione had stood strong in her opinion that house-elves were just as, if not more, trustworthy as humans.

The door closed as softly as it could, but it creaked slightly and clicked when it shut. The way Hermione's nerves were by that point, though, they might as well have stood behind her and started screaming; after all, her terrified shriek woke up Mrs. Black just the same.

She turned around, took one look at his face, and was almost sick. "You!" she screamed as if he were some type of apparition – which, admittedly, he was, having appeared out of thin air just that morning – and she lunged.

Tom would owe Remus Lupin his life for the grip he kept on Hermione.

An hour and a half later, Hermione was sitting upstairs in the bedroom she had previously shared with Ginny Weasley, recovering with help from whatever Order member could be spared. She had basically recovered – she was hardly shaking at all now – but Remus Lupin, who was overseeing her recovery, wasn't sure if he should let her downstairs and risk another breakdown.

After another good twenty minutes of her assuring him in a steadily more firm voice that she was, of course, perfectly fine, and he was being simply ridiculous, he hesitantly allowed her to leave, walking her to the kitchen where Tom was being kept.

Upon seeing him there, in the flesh, once again, Hermione nearly turned around and walked straight back to the bedroom, but she remembered how arrogant, smug, and just plain _annoying_ he had been earlier that day and decided to not give him the satisfaction.

Instead, she walked up behind him and gave him a firm _smack_ in the back of his head. After all, he deserved it.

Remus almost carted Hermione back upstairs, but she looked like she felt so much better now that he decided to let her be. Tom, of course, was busy rubbing the back of his head.

"What was that for?" he demanded.

"Invading my life," she said simply and sweetly.

"Children?" he asked in a stern tone, holding back a spurt of laughter. "Are we quite done?" As if it had been _her_ fault!

"Yes sir," she said, reprimanded.

"Good. Now we have some things to discuss, I believe..."

They spent the next hour going over the details of this morning, and it was an hour well wasted. Hermione nearly choked Tom more than once, as he made it out to be some... misunderstanding that was completely her fault, and Remus had to physically restrain her from smacking him again for his pure _cheek_. In all, it was great fun – for Hermione, at least.

However much fun it might've been, though, it did none of them any good; they were still as clueless as they had ever been on the subject, though Hermione was slightly closer to despair as even Remus Lupin, a former _teacher_, had no answers for her.

The only thing that they had been able to decide upon, actually, was that none of them had ever heard of such an occurrence. That was most disheartening, at least to Hermione. She was of the opinion that almost everything in the world that was possible had to have happened at least once by now. Alas, it was not so.

Alastor Moody, who had been occupied with checking the security on Grimmauld Place before the night's festivities, came in to check on how the three were doing, apparently satisfied (for now) with the precautions that had been placed.

"Tom, you said you couldn't leave the Granger's when you first tried?" Tom nodded, rolling his eyes; they had been over this point many times before. Moody growled at the act of disrespect but basically ignored it, turning his attention to Remus, instead. "Doesn't that remind you of a… a binding charm, almost?"

"Well, sort of. But he wasn't pulled with her when she left, and I haven't been able to find any type of a line between the two of them. That was my first guess, though."

"I didn't say it had to be a straightforward binding charm, Remus. But something close to it's my guess." He turned to Tom again. "When were you able to exit the household?"

"I left about twenty minutes after she did. Got dreadfully bored, I must confess, and I thought I'd wander around for a bit."

Alastor and Remus, at something like the same time, muttered what sounded vaguely like "subliminal", though that made no sense.

"Pardon?" asked Hermione, not wanting to be left out.

It was Lupin that answered. "An intuitive binding charm, perhaps."

"_De Rigueur_?" asked Moody.

"But – that hasn't been seen since the days of Grindelwald, when the French accidentally – what?"

"Did you just say Grindelwald?"

"Yes. He was a Dark Wizard in the 1940's, defeated by Al- the _late_ Albus D-"

"I know who he is!" said Tom in a voice that was quite frankly louder than necessary. "I've seen him, kind of."

"Kind of?"

"Well, I saw his army demolishing Hogsmeade last term, while I was doing Astronomy work."

Nobody spoke for a moment, then: "He was defeated over fifty years ago, son," said Alastor. "That's almost three times your age. You couldn't have seen him. Even _I_ was just beginning my training when he was about."

At last, they had determined something. Whatever the spell was that had brought him into Hermione's life – not to mention her bedroom – had brought him forward fifty-some years in the process.

_And I thought old-fashioned was supposed to be a good thing_, she thought. _Guess I was wrong_.

She volunteered to go into the library and look up binding charms, specifically intuitive binding charms, and even more specifically the _De Rigueur_ intuitive binding charm.

Binding charms are charms designed to bind one object to another, usually to prevent one from becoming lost or stolen. When a binding charm is in place, it is physically impossible to cause the two objects from being farther apart than the distance determined by the charm.

There are two types of binding charms – physical binding charms (see page 264) and intuitive binding charms (see page 283). Binding charms can range from the simplest affixing spell (see page 265) to dangerous – and illegal – obsession charms (see page 285).

_Thank you, Merlin_¸ she thought. She had hoped that the large, gloomy text she had chosen would have been more helpful than Miranda Goshawk's Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4.

Intuitive binding charms – also known as subliminal or subconscious binding charms – are similar to traditional binding charms in function, though more complex in method. Intuitive binding charms can only be put upon living creatures, as they require a functioning subconscious to work.

An intuitive binding charm causes the bearer to become almost instantly miserable when they are apart from the object they are linked to. Intuitive binding charms can be dangerous if performed incorrectly – and, in some cases, if performed correctly – and the stronger ones tend to be illegal.

That was a bit more informative. But it didn't seem to match her predicament, exactly. Perhaps something more could be found in the section on the _De Rigueur_ charm.

The _De Rigueur_ charm is a binding charm (see page 260) that works as both an intuitive binding charm (see page 283) and a traditional, physical binding charm (see page 264).

It is different from all other known binding charms in that there is no set distance at which the objects become uncomfortable – the farther apart the two creatures are, the more miserable they become. A subset of that distinction is that the two creatures must never be entirely enclosed in an area without the other.

_De Rigueur_ is similar, though not identical, to the _De Sol Rigueur_ charm (see page 301).

Though her original itinerary had been to get information on binding charms, intuitive binding charms, and _De Rigueur_, she knew she had to find out more about the _De Sol Rigueur_. Though this spell seemed likely, it wasn't an exact match. Perhaps this was the answer.

_De Sol Rigueur_ is one of the most complex binding charms in existence. Though it is a close relation to the _De Rigueur_ charm (see page 300), there is one distinct difference.

In most binding charms, the two objects or creatures are both bound together, equally; neither can be apart from the other without severe discomfort. However, in the case of _De Sol Rigueur_, only one of the objects is bound. The creature that is under the spell cannot bear to be without the other, known as the Determiner, as per the restrictions of the more common _De Rigueur_ charm. The Determiner, however, feels few if any averse effects of separation.

Due to the fact that only one of the enchanted creatures feels the effects of the spell, the effects felt are often much stronger than in other cases, as the misery of both objects are compounded into one single target.

Objects of _De Sol Rigueur_, as in most other spells, are often not aware that they are enchanted.

Creatures with unusually strong wills – such as most cats, and some humans – feel the effects less strongly than those with weaker wills.

It is illegal to cast _De Sol Rigueur_ without the consent of the individuals involved.

"Professor Lupin, I think I've found it!" she said five minutes later, having written down the information and put the book back carefully where she had gotten it from, and rushed into the kitchen where she found him and Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody sitting and having a conversation (that looked suspiciously like an interrogation on Moody's part) with Tom.

"What is it, girl?" Moody growled.

"_De Sol Rigueur_," she answered. "I found it in Charms of the Ages. Here." She excitedly thrust her handwritten copy in between the two of them, and glared at Tom with something like smugness.

He rolled his eyes dismissively.

She stuck out her tongue at him.

He made a face.

She made a meaner one.

He shot her a death glare.

She quickly adopted an exaggerated, pained look before putting her hand to her forehead – in the traditionally stereotypical manner of a woman about to faint – and leaned back in her chair.

She fell.

He stuck his tongue out at her.

"That is quite _enough_, children!" said Lupin in an unusually stern voice. Hermione and Tom blushed, having forgotten the adult presence in the room.

"Yes, sir," they answered strangely in unison. Hermione had never wanted to say anything in unison with this… person, she supposed he was. However distasteful she found him.

Hermione was, to say the least, not pleased with the outcome of the conversation that ensued.

One morning – not even three hours – with him had brought her to the verge of an emotional breakdown. A few hours more, and she was behaving like a seven year-old. She was supposed to save the world like that?

She decided that, when they failed because she had started laughing hysterically at how strangely contorted Harry's face had become in concentration as they attempted to destroy the final material horcrux, thus giving them away to the Dark Lord and his minions, she was going to blame Remus Lupin, Alastor Moody, and – of course – Tom. Whatever his last name might be.

She sighed, brushing her hair in preparation for the nights going-away party. She was most decidedly **not** looking forward to announcing to Harry and Ron that their party of three would have an addition.

She groaned, remembering that Harry couldn't even see him, and what if Ron were the same way?

Oh, how she wished that it were somebody else's problem.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note**: It is rather unexpected, actually, that I put this up tonight. Chapter four is _not_ yet in progress as I just recently finished chapter three (and when I say recently, I mean within 5 minutes of writing this), but it should be started soon.

Thank you to everyone who's reviewed, along with everyone who's read it in general. This has_not_ been beta-read, as is the custom for this story, as I want to keep this as true to my own writing as I can manage.

The last 520 or so words of this was written in one sitting (and by that I mean just a few moments ago) so I have no idea if it's total crap or not as I woke up at an abnormally early hour this morning and should probably be in bed.

There are a total of **_two_** happy little foreshadowy things in this chapter! Cookies to whoever manages to find them, and/or figure out _why_ some people can't manage to see Tom!

Okay, I'm done boring you now (as if anybody reads author's notes anyway, besides me).

* * *

Untitled 

By: Jamie

_ChapterThree_:Postponed

The going-away party seemed to be beginning well; nobody had gotten attacked, everybody was still speaking to everyone else, and that Tom character was safely locked away in an upstairs bedroom, out of the way until Hermione had a chance to explain the sudden change of plans to Harry and Ron.

She was rather enjoying herself, if truth be told, surrounded by her friends, her current major annoyance stuffed away somewhere, hopefully suffering a bit from the _De Sol Rigueur_ that had somehow become cast upon the two of them.

However, it was getting late. Tom had been pushed upstairs what had to be at least two hours ago, when Harry had come back from wherever he had been (he was rather mysterious as to what he had been doing). Though Harry could somehow not see Tom, they still thought it was best that he not be around, as talking to oneself tends to become a bit suspicious after a time.

She sighed. "Harry, Ron," she said, "come with me for a minute, there's something I need to talk to you about." She went upstairs, followed closely by Harry and Ron, who were looking very much confused. They hadn't done anything wrong lately, had they? "There's… been a slight change in plans."

"Hermione, you have to go, there's no way-"

"Of course I have to go, I wasn't planning on leaving you two all alone, you'd never manage."

They rolled their eyes. She returned the favour.

"_As I was saying_, there's been a change in plans. We have a, erm, slight addition to our group." By this point, they had been standing still on the first floor for a few moments, in front of a door. It was at this time that Hermione opened the door. "Now Harry, I know you can't see him. Ron…?"

"Hermione, you're out of your mind," said Ron.

She groaned. "Not you, too!"

"There's nobody in there," said Harry.

"Oh yes, there is, he's right - " She swore. Where had that boy gone off to? Didn't he know any better than to go wandering around a strange house all by himself?

She walked briskly downstairs, finding Moody. "Excuse me, sir, the boy who was here earlier, Tom, he's not in his room anymore, and I was wondering if you could help me find him."

Mad-Eye growled his approval and swiveled his magical eye around, apparently searching through the house for him. "Second story, he's in the bathroom. Tell him to keep out of the cupboards, why don't you, it's none of his business what we keep here."

Typical. Nosy little –

"Moody said to keep yourself out of our cupboards while you're here," she said in a tone she had rehearsed to sound bored. She was leaning against the doorframe, watching him snoop through the bathroom.

He jumped a little when she started talking, but showed no other signs of surprise. If she had called him on it, she was sure he'd have lied about being startled by her at all.

"I wasn't going through -"

"What were you doing then? Trying to find a good hiding place?"

"I was -"

"There's no point in lying, Tom. Moody saw you looking through the cupboards fifteen minutes ago, at least."

"How did -"

"Now, now, Tommy, that would be telling."

"My _name_ is not Tommy."

"Your _name_ is whatever I choose to call you, _Tommy_." She gave him a stone cold glare. He shot her a death-look, which was as ineffectual as always. "And anyway, I thought I told you to stay in the bedroom."

"Don't worry, you did."

"Then why aren't you in there?"

"I got bored."

She sighed. Did he really have the attention span of a three year old, that he was physically unable to sit still for a few hours? "Is your attention span really that short?"

"No," he answered. "But it's much more amusing to irritate you."

He smirked. She punched him.

Twenty minutes later, they – meaning Hermione, Ron, Harry, and Tom – were seated in the bedroom that Tom was supposed to have been occupying on their first visit. Much to Hermione's dismay, however, Ron could see Tom no more than Harry could.

She was just about at her wit's end, actually. It was frustrating enough trying to explain for what had to be the fifth time that day the situation she had found herself in that morning, and Tom's periodic comments – which no one present besides herself could hear – were most certainly not helping her mood.

"I woke up this morning and –"

"You snore terribly, by the way."

"I do _not_."

"You don't what Hermione?"

"Snore."

"Obviously, you wouldn't know, seeing as how you can't hear yourself sleeping."

"Oh, shut _up_!"

"I didn't say anything…"

"Not you."

It was, in all, a frustrating conversation, and she had to reign in the urge to punch Tom in the face again. Remus and Mad-Eye had been relatively understanding the first time it had happened – after all, they had been around him too, and knew how difficult it was to play nicely with him – but she had a feeling they would be rather upset should it happen again.

The only upside to the situation was that Harry finally knew that she wasn't insane. Actually, he still had his doubts, but as Hermione's insanity would mean that of Mad-Eye Moody and Remus Lupin as well, he decided to pretend that everything was normal. Even though, as he had been told during his second year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, hearing voices no one else could hear wasn't a good thing, even in the wizarding world; he supposed that, as at least two people besides Hermione could see this person, she was at least _bordering_ on normal.

Hermione. Normal. Right…

He mentally thwapped himself upside the head. Just because the world was evidently going mad was no reason to think mean things about his friend. Then he spent a moment wondering if it were possible to mentally thwap yourself upside the head.

Upon reaching no conclusion, he simply shook his head – physically this time, to avoid pesky thoughts like the one he had had a moment ago – to rid himself of the thought.

"Harry, are you all right?"

"What?" he asked.

"You just started twitching or something…"

"Oh, that," he said in a dismissive tone. "Nothing."

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry thought he saw a figure laughing, but as he turned his head to get a better look, it disappeared.

"Are you sure you're alright Harry?"

"Yes, I'm sure," he said forcefully. "I just thought I saw something for a moment there… Maybe I'm going daft, too." He added this last part, of course, in a seriously diminished voice, and found – much to his delight – that Hermione didn't hear it. It was just what they needed, three – four, if you count the invisible one – mentally unstable teenagers, fighting the Ultimate Evil and saving the world.

As opposed to, of course, three – four, if you count the invisible one – mentally stable teenagers, fighting the Ultimate Evil and saving the world.

He thought the first one sounded better; the second made him sound delusional, as if he were unaware of his own insanity.

So he _was_ crazy, then?

He was giving himself a headache with all these puzzling contradictions. "Hermione, Ron, whoever the hell the invisible guy is, I'm giving myself a headache. I'll be back in a minute, once I find some bloody medicine…" As he left the room, Hermione could have sworn she heard him say something about invisible people and muggle books.

Hermione shot a puzzled look at Ron, who returned it.

Tom sat still, looking somehow proud of himself. As if he had caused it.

Hermione groaned. "What did you do this time?" she asked. Ron looked confused. "Not you, Ron. Him."

"What, so I don't have a name anymore?" he asked, in a mock-hurt voice.

"Oh, shove it. What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything," he answered. "It's not my fault if your friends are insane."

"They are not insane!" Half a second later, "And I'm _still_ not talking to you, Ron."

"Yeah, Ron, she's not bloody talking to you."

"Shut _up_, you irritating… twit! You know he can't hear you, and it's doing no good. Now be a good boy, else I'll leave the room, and then where will you be!"

"Alright, alright, I was just having a spot of fun, no need to overreact."

"I am _this_ close," she said, holding up her hand and demonstrating a centimeter or so of distance with her fingers, "to punching you in the face again. In the space of less than 24 hours, I've put up with more insane situations than most people do in their entire lives. I'm leaving tomorrow, and you're going with me, and you're going to behave else I'll lock you up somewhere and we'll just _see_ how well you deal with that!"

"Yes, mother," he said in a voice that was somehow more resigned than sarcastic.

Hermione did the meanest thing she could think of to do at the time; she got up from the bed she was sitting on, walked calmly over to the door, and left, closing it behind her.

"That wasn't very nice, Hermione," said Harry when she told him what she had done. They were now in an even further upstairs bedroom, with the door open a crack. After all, he may not be able to _see_ this character, but that was no reason to assume that he didn't have feelings.

That, or he was going stark raving mad.

Either one would work, really.

Of course, as the future of the world (not to mention everyone in it) seemed at present to be depending upon his capacity to defeat the closest thing to Evil itself that had managed to come out of hiding, he preferred to think of himself as sympathetic rather than insane.

And yet, he was talking to himself…

Dreading the fate of the world itself, he swung his head back with a bit of force, intending to knock some sense into himself at last.

"I told you he was a loony."

"For the nth time, Tom, my friends are _not_ insane. A bit odd maybe, but certainly nothing noticeably out of the ordinary."

As she said that, she fought back memories of Harry and Ron acting particularly insane. Ron defeating a mountain troll their first year, purely by accident. Harry's personal goal of defeating all of the evil that will ever exist, and saving everyone he's never met.

Not crazy, she told herself, just a little _odd_.

"Besides their insanity, you mean." She shot him a dirty look. "He _intentionally_ banged his head against the wall hard enough to make him lose consciousness. That's not even stupid, that's just plain crazy."

She sighed. "Well, yes. There's that. But I'll have you know he's usually perfectly stable! He has a lot on his mind lately, after all, and then you come into the picture and make him believe that the world is going completely daft on him, and what do you expect to happen?"

"Oh, I don't know. Why doesn't he start drinking, that's how it's usually dealt with. Or he could just have a breakdown, like a normal person. Bloody bashing his head against the wall… that's just not right."

She gave him a look that quite plainly asked him since when is _anything_ right, really, and who is he, of all people, to judge appropriateness? "Well, there's nothing to be done about it now, is there? He's on bedrest for at least twenty-four hours, depending on how well he's doing. Damn house…"

"It's not the house's fault your friend lost his mind, deary."

"It's the house's fault it hurt him so badly, though. I swear, every enchantment known to wizardkind must be enacted somewhere on this property… none of us would have guessed that his 'unpure' blood would set off alarms, though."

"Did I miss something?"

"Apparently you did, Tommy boy." She sighed. "Ordinarily, he would have been free within an hour or so of waking up. But since the former owners of this fine abode were prejudiced Dark wizards, the house put some kind of a poison into his bloodstream."

"So you're trying to tell me that the _house_ poisoned your crazy little friend?"

"That'd be it, yeah."

"So you're all daft, then."

Once again, she didn't punch him.

But if she had, he would have deserved it.

Hermione had no idea where Tom was. She had kicked him out of her bedroom shortly after he called Harry daft (again), because she needed a nap more than anything else in the world. If Lord Voldemort himself had come walking through the bedroom door with a self-destruct button on his forehead, his wand snapped in half, and his arms tied behind his back, she would have asked him to kindly leave so that she could sleep.

Or, more fitting with recent events, she would have called Harry, told him to push the button, and then cried when he said that he couldn't see Lord Voldemort either.

So she woke up after what felt like a good six hours but had probably been closer to five, with no idea at all where Tom was, and not especially caring. However, she knew that he was basically her responsibility thanks to the spell that made him more or less completely dependent on her, so she should probably find him.

Of course, he was perfectly fine. In fact, he was rather angry that she interrupted his game; he was downstairs in the kitchen, playing poker with Remus and Moody (who she thought ought to be behaving more responsibly). Judging by the large pile of coins sitting in front of him, however, it seemed as if they were paying for their lapse in judgement already.

"Tom, _what_ are you doing?"

"Playing poker, obviously."

"For money?"

"No, for biscuits," he said sarcastically.

She rolled her eyes. "Where did you get the gold for gambling?"

"He loaned me some to start off with," he said, gesturing vaguely to Remus.

"Come on Hermione," he said, persuading her that he was innocent in a markedly guilty voice, "he's been here for _ages_! You can't keep someone locked up and not even allow them a game every once in a while!"

Hermione opened her mouth to say something, but thought better of it. So instead she settled for turning on her heel and leaving the room, letting the door slam behind her.

Hermione was quite used to Harry being confined to bed for medical reasons – after all, his adventures were rarely safe, and he had, over the years, spent almost as much time in the hospital wing as in his classes.

It had never bothered her quite as much as this time, though. For one, their trip was postponed indefinitely. As it was not simply a vacation, or even one of their more traditional 'let's go save the world' jaunts, she was in an even bigger hurry than usual to get started; however, with their obvious leader confined to a bed for some period of between a day and forever, they couldn't exactly take off without him.

Also, the fact that every moment she stayed at Grimmauld Place was a moment of her life she was spending with Tom that she would never, ever get back wasn't exactly a pleasant concept to get used to, either.

She had no idea how she was going to survive the summer, as he would have to accompany them (much as she would like to ignore him altogether and leave him at the mercy of _De Sol Rigueur_, Moody and Lupin – not to mention her own conscience – wouldn't allow it). Especially seeing as how Harry and Ron were, in fact, under the impression that she was completely and totally worthy of being institutionalized. Hallucinations, delusions, maybe even a bit of paranoia… in the kitchen earlier with Moody and Lupin, had she been regressing?

She told herself firmly, not for the first time, to stop reading psychology books, as it did nothing but make her paranoid.

Looking around her, Hermione found that she truly wanted nothing more at that moment than to hit something. The house itself was one object of her fury for postponing their mission for a while at least, but she knew better than to try to attack it after what had happened to Harry.

The other primary cause of her anger was, of course, Tom himself. Since he had been brought into the picture just a few hours ago (but what long, painful hours they had been), it seemed as if nothing had gone right. If she had been the 'emotional' type, she would have started crying. If she had been the 'musical' type, she would have written the longest, most angst-filled song the world had ever heard, and it might even have not sucked very much.

As it was, she was more of a 'literary' type, so she pulled out her Work In Progress and set herself to the painful task of editing.

Even as a child, Hermione had never really been the type for fiction, which is why it may seem a bit odd for her to be writing a book. Rest assured, however, that it was _not_ fiction.

It was, in fact, a record of her first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

As fantastic as the tale was, even to her, she had begun to keep a journal. Not for the purpose of sorting herself out, or bashing people she disliked, but so when she had the time, she could write out, in length, all of the events that had transpired.

She had finished writing about her first year before the second term of her sixth, and she still had a lot of editing to do before she would allow anyone's eyes but her own to find it.


End file.
